


take me to the church

by kingsoftheimpossible



Series: take me to the church [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Chaos, Oral Sex, Possessive Marking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 01:06:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1207138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsoftheimpossible/pseuds/kingsoftheimpossible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis are Horsemen of the Apocalypse- War and Conquest- but that's not really important. They just like to fuck things up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take me to the church

**Author's Note:**

> a) this is not a coherent Thing. it's just an experiment in writing semi-dark h/l ficlets, so there's not much plot. just chaos, generally.  
> b)YOOOOOO READ THESE WARNINGS, thanks: hints of unhealthy codependent relationship, arson, blasphemy, a sort-of robbery, reckless driving, mentions of mania, possessive marking (scarification), the sex is completely consensual but a few instances of violence in it  
> c) read those warnings.  
> d) less serious warning: badly written blowjob wassup

They lose themselves in pieces. It’d be easier to care if Louis weren’t in the passenger seat, but every time Harry glances over, the view’s the same- wide open plains, wide open road, Louis in his big Hepburn sunglasses with his forehead resting against the window, pocket knife tracing thin lines on the fabric of his jeans. Everything in Harry’s body feels _restless_ , feels like it needs change and motion and burning, but when he looks at Louis, carving their initials into the glove box for the thousandth time, it calms him. There’s no hurry.

They’re going to set the world on fire.

* * *

 

“Pull over up here,” Louis says, voice rough from the long silence. Just hearing him speak slows Harry’s frantic heartbeat, evens him out into something almost human.

There’s a dusty gas station up ahead, letters missing off the sign and no one in sight. Harry presses down on the accelerator before his brain’s even caught up with Louis’ mouth, and the car lurches forward as the needle edges towards ninety.

Louis drops his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, repeats himself with his voice edging just that bit higher. “ _Pull over._ ”

Harry’s cheek twitches, fighting down a smile. Eventually, they’ll do everything on earth together, but this part will never get old. “Don’t wanna,” he says, just to hear Louis make that affronted little noise, feel the point of the pocket knife pressed sharp to Harry’s inner thigh.

“Pull over, Harold.” And Louis’ gone quiet, seething already, always so easy to work up after hours of radio silence. His blade digs into the meat of Harry’s thigh, just right, and Harry’s hands twitch on the steering wheel. The car jerks, tires screeching while the whole thing swerves towards the ditch, and if that’s not a metaphor for something, Harry’ll be damned.

He’s damned anyway, they both are, but that’s hardly the point.

The point is Louis swearing when Harry slams the brakes, Louis’ fingernails pressing into the ripped fabric of Harry’s jeans before the car’s even slowed to a stop, Louis climbing across the console while Harry’s still trying to put the damn thing in park. Louis with his mouth to Harry’s ear _you never listen, I swear to god you never fucking listen, you stupid motherfucker, I hate you so much_ and his hands everywhere- shoving the scarf out of Harry’s hair, pressing two fingers into Harry’s mouth until he gags, wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist- and it’s always going to be the two of them, like this.

“I pulled over, didn’t I?” Harry gasps out when Louis latches onto his neck, all teeth, but it just makes him bite down that much harder.

“ _I pulled over_ ,” Louis mimics him, baby voice at odds with the way he’s grinding his ass down into Harry’s lap. “You’re such a fucking teenager.”

It’s not true, strictly, but Harry doesn’t help his own case by coming in his pants a few moments later. Louis feels him stiffen, reaches one hand down to feel the wet soaking through the crotch of Harry’s jeans, and he just laughs, a harsh sound that sends Harry’s ears ringing. That’s going to be the soundtrack to the end of the world, and they’re the only two who know it.

“You’re so easy for me, love,” Louis tells him, and it makes Harry whine like nothing else.

* * *

 

By the time they walk into the gas station, Harry’s got come glistening on his shirt and come drying in his jeans, and Louis looks so smug that it should be illegal. Not that it would stop him.

The clerk is watching them wearily, has been watching them through the glass doors since their car was just a speck in the distance. His eyes catch on the wet spot shining against the black of Harry’s t-shirt, and Harry tugs on Louis’ fingers, watches with big innocent eyes while Louis gives his catlike smile, swipes his fingers through the wet and sucks them into his mouth, eyes locked with the cashier the whole time.

The man squirms and tries to look away, but it’s not easy to look away from Louis, especially when he doesn’t want to be ignored.

“Do you sell condoms? Like, really huge condoms?” Louis asks, high and sweet, and _dangerous_ , but this man hasn’t caught onto that bit yet. “We just need the _biggest_ condoms, because I love taking _massive_ cocks in my ass, you know? _You_ know,” Louis teases, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Harry’s heart is stuttering in his chest, picking up pace so quickly that his head goes fuzzy with it.

The cashier sputters, face drawn into something twisted with disgust. Louis isn’t even watching, attention already elsewhere, fingers tracing over the shelves of brightly-packaged gas station candies.

The clerk swallows, glares, grunts, “Personal items in the back by the restrooms.”

Louis tosses a sweet smile over his shoulder, cuts his eyes to Harry. “Thank the nice man, Harry.”

Harry grins, all dimples and red chapped lips, and the clerk shifts uncomfortably, won’t meet his eye. “Thank you very much, sir. He doesn’t really want the condoms; he’s just being a prick.”

Louis snorts from somewhere near the back of the little store, and Harry’s chest tightens in the best way.

“Never use condoms anyway,” Harry whispers conspiratorially, but too loud. “ He likes to feel the come running out of him after.” Harry flounces away to wrap himself around Louis’ back while the cashier buries his face in his hands and tries to ignore them.

Louis has two little boxes in his hands when Harry reaches him- off-brand condoms and a pack of matches. Harry’s pulse skips around, won’t settle, so he has to bury his face in the soft hair at Louis’ nape, drag his lips over the dry-sweat skin he can reach.

“Are we gonna, Lou? Are we?” and he’s babbling, lost in it already, the promise of fire in Louis’ hand causing his hips to thrust slow up against Louis’ flank, hungry for it.

Louis hums, noncommittal, flipping the condom box in his hand to read the back, pocketing the matches. “Reckon I could fit one of these over your head and suffocate you while I suck you off?” he asks, eyebrows drawn together in concentration while his eyes scan the packaging. “Some people are into that weird shit.”

Harry bites softly at the juncture of Louis’ neck and shoulder, giggling. “I don’t see any warnings against it on the box. Sounds safe to me.”

Louis echoes, “ _Safe_ ,” frowning, before tossing the box back on the shelf and knocking half the display to floor. He pockets the matches before roughly shoving Harry’s face off his neck and heading to the register. Harry grabs a few packs of fruit snacks off the shelf and follows his lead. By the time Harry sets his snacks on the counter, Louis’ got his knife out, lazily scratching their initials into the linoleum while the clerk watches, whole body tensed.

“Don’t you think our initials look good together?” Louis asks, smiling slyly up at the man, but he’s gone stupid and scared of them by now, doesn’t answer right away. It sets Harry’s lips into a pout, because _Of course_ their initials look good together. They _belong_ together, like nothing else in the history of the world.

And Harry can feel Louis flaring up, the clerk’s silence burning in him like fuel. Louis watches the man carefully, eyes narrowed just this side of a threat, but his words are for Harry this time when he says, “Harry, love, show him how good our initials are. Show him how good they look.”

Harry’s skin flashes hot, too close to the nuclear reactor of Louis’ mania. He strips his t-shirt off instantly, dropping it to the floor and standing obediently with his hands clasped behind his back. The man’s eyes move warily to Harry’s chest, like he can’t _help_ it, and Harry feels a swell of warm pride when the man’s jaw drops and a strangled sound dies off in his throat.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Louis coos, and Harry lights up because Louis is looking at _him_ now, affectionate gaze flickering between Harry’s face and his chest, ribs, where _HS+LT_ is carved over and over into the pale skin, raised in scar tissue and sunk red in fresh cuts. “Did it myself,” he adds, puffing up like a little bird when he says it. His eyes flash then, dark, slicing back to the cashier who can’t help but meet his gaze. “Tell Harry how nice he looks.”

The man swallows, shifting his weight nervously. “That’s...it looks very nice,” he says, voice wavering and pitching too high.

Harry beams at him and he flinches. His eyes drop back to the counter and he starts ringing up the fruit snacks, hands twitching when he tries to bag them up. Louis steps away from the counter, wanders off so Harry can pay for his purchases.

It’s easy to knock over the little display shelf with the four bottles of lighter fluid, fun for Louis to whoop and jump on the bottles and crush them beneath his white Keds, bursting the caps with his weight until the tile floor is slick with it and the whole gas station smells sharp, ready to burst into flames with a flick of Louis’ hand.

The clerk’s screaming, _what’s he doing, stop him, stop that_ , but Harry can’t do anything except smile, watching Louis splash around in the butane until he’s soaked with it, until _everything_ is soaked with it.

The clerk says, “Please, please,” over and over until Harry gets irritated. Who has time to be scared when Louis is tearing things apart? It raises the hair on the back of Harry’s neck, has him pinning the man with what Louis likes to call his ‘lazer frog’ stare.

“You should be thankful,” Harry tells him, scowling, but the man spits, enraged, terrified a bit.

“ _Thankful_? He’s ruining everything; I’m going to lose my fucking job, please-”

Harry doesn’t startle when Louis appears next to him, soaked in lighter fluid and radiating warmth when he wraps himself around Harry’s body, hands sliding up Harry’s thighs, over his twitching abdomen, arms finally settling around his neck. Louis’ on his tiptoes, hard where he’s pressed, rocking slightly, against Harry’s back. They’re so good like this, is the thing.

Louis’ breath is light against Harry’s ear, a warm hiss of _come on, come on, come on_ until Harry’s giggling and swatting him away, scratching at the residual tickle of it. The clerk is frozen, eyes bugged, watching them, watching Louis with his eyes lit up and Harry with his skin full of their names. Harry knows the man could never guess what they are- doesn’t look particularly religious, no cross around his neck or beads on his wrist. It’d be nice, though, to hear someone say it.

”You should leave,” Harry tells him, smiling too big, too many teeth- different than how Louis does it, not sharp, just _wide_. Endless. “It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

“You’re fucking crazy,” the man says, like that’s news. Like that’s anything worth saying. But he leaves- opens the cash register and sweeps the contents into the outheld tail of his shirt, stumbles through the glass doors and keeps going, doesn’t look back.

When Harry refocuses, Louis is pouting, eyebrows arched in disaproval.

”I wanted him to _stay_ ,” he says, petulant.

Harry rolls his eyes, grips Louis’ fingertips and spins him in a grand ballroom twirl, feet squeaking on the butane-slick floor. “You always want them to stay. You always want people to watch,” he says, low, pulling Louis in until his back is pressed to Harry’s chest, until Harry can bite at his earlobes the way he _hates_. “Why’m I never good enough for you, huh? Never happy with _just me_ , Lou, why’s that?” he asks, hands covering Louis’ belly and throat- soft places, open places, easy places. He likes how they tighten, shake, when Louis gets pissed off- like now. A taut bowstring curled into Harry’s chest.

Louis elbows him in the stomach, breaks away with a soft snarl. He kicks the empty bottles, stalks down the nearest aisle and bats things onto the floor at random, sweeps his entire arm down a display of snack cakes and then pushes the shelf over for good measure.

He says, “You’re so _stupid_. You always say the _stupidest_ things.” Opens the giant refrigerator door, lightning-quick smashes bottle after glass bottle of beer against the tiles. “You know it’s never like that, but you always _say it_ , always try to make me the bad guy.”

Harry flinches at each sharp crack of glass but he smirks anyway, can’t help it. Like Louis hasn’t always been _the bad guy_.

”I just want you to tell me you _love me_ ,” says Harry, pulling his lips into a pout and batting his eyelashes. “I just like hearing you say it’s always about me.”

Louis slams the door so loudly that the reinforced glass rattles in its pane. His footsteps crunch over the shrapnel he’s shattered on the floor, and Harry can see the little cuts on his exposed ankles, the tiny trails of blood staining his Keds.

” _Everything_ is about you, you fucking idiot.” He sounds deadly serious, but Harry can see the way his tongue presses against his cheek, the way he bites down to keep from laughing. “ The whole universe is about _you_.”

Harry shrugs like it’s no big deal, but he can feel how he’s beaming, smiling so huge his face hurts. “As long as you know.”

”As long as _you_ know,” Louis responds nonsensically, eyes zeroed in on Harry’s mouth moving, flicking down to the pulsing vein in his neck. Harry tilts his chin up slightly, pointedly raising his eyebrows.

“ _Fuck._ ” Louis is so easy sometimes, it’s almost funny. He’s scrabbling with both hands, frantically turning his pockets out until he finds the matches. The box is open before Harry’s even taken a breath, and Louis is striking a handful at once, scattering them in the mess on the floor-

It goes up instantly, everything crackling and early-fire-hot- Louis is pulling at Harry’s zipper, pressing him against the front counter. He gets Harry’s dick out in what might be record time, but it’s hard to tell. They’ve had a lot of practice.

“Your fucking jeans are going to catch fire, idiot,” Harry says, tries to be frantic but his voice just comes syrup-slow with Louis’ mouth around the head of his dick. He can feel Louis’ lips pull tight in a grin, feel the dull edges of his teeth press into the sensitive skin because he’s an absolute bastard. “Shit, _shit_ , no biting- come on, hurry-”

Louis hums, seemingly content to drag his mouth slow and slick up and down Harry’s prick like the building isn’t burning around them, like Louis isn’t drenched in butane because he’s a fucking _moron_ and Harry’s-

Harry’s-

Harry’s a lot better at being angry with Louis when he isn’t on his knees. That’s always been a problem.

“Jesus, you’re so hot,” Harry grits out, irritated with himself when he lets his hand drop to smooth over the bulge of Louis’ cheek where his cock’s pressing it out like some sort of weird sex chipmunk. Louis blinks up at him, eyes crinkling and shining with wet while he tries not to laugh and choke on the dick in his mouth.

He pulls off, messy, spit all down his chin and Harry’s open flies, and he does it on purpose, every time. One hand wraps around Harry’s dick, pulling lazily like they’ve got all the time in the world. “Going to be hotter when my jeans go up in flames, I expect.”

”You’re so fucking terrible,” Harry groans, caught between frustrated and fascinated with the way Louis’ thumb is circling the tip of his dick where it’s too sensitive to feel _just_ good. “Don’t joke about that, god, come on, just-”

”Yeah, yeah,” Louis mutters, like blowing Harry is some huge fucking chore. Like Harry can’t see the way he’s rolling his hips up against the heel of his own hand. Louis rolls his eyes when he guides Harry’s dick back into his mouth, and that’s always- Harry’s always loved and hated that. The way Louis acts like he could go without it, like he isn’t starving for it, always.

But Harry can feel the fingers of Louis’ free hand tracing over and over their initials- the newest ones, carved fresh into the soft skin in the dip between Harry’s jutting hipbone and his kitten belly. Louis’ fingernails dig in, the sharp spike of pain amplifying Louis’ tongue dragging over his slit- over and over, just that, no suction, until Harry’s shaking from the _notenough-toomuch_ of it.

” _Fuck_ , fucking come _on_ ,” Harry whines, fisting his hand in Louis’ hair and pulling, pushing his hips forward at the same time. Louis’ fingers claw at Harry’s stomach, bewildered for a moment before he settles in, loosens his jaw and curls a hand around Harry’s hip, urging him on.

The fire is hot, and everywhere, and the place smells like burning tobacco and melting plastic, and there’s a fire truck siren wailing in the distance, and the sun is shining through the glass storefront. Harry comes with a strangled moan and a violent jerk of his hips when Louis’ thumbnail presses sharp against the scabbed-over initials low on Harry’s ribcage.

He’s still shaking when he drags Louis to his feet, whirls them so he’s caging Louis against the counter, laughing weakly into his mouth and whispering, _god, god, god, reckless, stupid, hate you_ , with his hand shoved down the front of Louis’ jeans. They’re both pouring sweat and somewhere on the floor Harry’s discarded shirt is almost definitely ash by now, and the fire engine is almost deafening, nearly there.

Harry’s always loved the way Louis’ back arches when he comes- Harry’s always folded _in_ on himself, shrinking smaller, but Louis explodes out, chest expanding and shoulders thrown back like he wants the whole world to watch.

He does, a bit.

”Come on, car,” Louis gasps, dick still twitching weakly where Harry’s palm is pressing it to his belly. “Car, car, car-”

Harry drags them both out, barely avoiding a squeaky yell when Louis’ jeans finally catch a spark and flare up- he pushes him down on the cement out in the sunshine and smothers the little fire, and they’re both laughing even though Harry’s so mad he can’t even see, but maybe that’s just all the smoke. They stumble into the car as the fire engine screeches into the parking lot, and they don’t stay to watch.

They’re well down the interstate, when Louis wriggles out of his singed jeans, rolls the window down and lets the wind rip them away.

”I can’t fucking believe you almost burned yourself alive,” Harry grumbles, but he’s so relieved that Louis _didn’t_ that he can hardly feel angry at all.

Louis just grins before twisting around to dig around in the backseat, knees on either side of the armrest, bare ass waving between the front seats somewhere around Harry’s eye level, because Louis is the worst, always. “Singed the fuckin’ hair off my shins,” he says easily, laughing like it’s the funniest thing in the world. Harry rolls his eyes, drops one hand from the wheel to smack sharply at Louis’ ass.

Louis screeches, outraged, and falls dick-over-face into the back floorboard. His head pops back up between the seats a moment later, red-cheeked and pissed off, but Harry resolutely keeps his eyes on the road and doesn’t laugh.

Or he tries. Not laughing at Louis has never been anything he’s good at. Probably never will be.

”Fucking hate you,” Louis snaps.

And Harry says, ”You, too,” and they keep driving, like they always do.


End file.
